“Oh.”
When I don’t hear him leave, I turn to the door to see him just watching me. “What?”
Jamie holds up the body-paint markers. “My back kind of hurts from lying on the couch. Do you want to draw on me while I use the heating pad?” I’d let him use it anyway. I know he knows that. Still, it means that Jamie wants to hang out with me some more, which both delights and confuses me.
“Okay.” I let him get comfortable while I plug it in, moving tofit it behind his back, ignoring the warm masculine scent of him. It isn’t my body wash. It’s just him. Leaning forward, he reaches behind himself and takes off his shirt. I can’t for the fucking life of me remember how to breathe. His large body is my personal playground.
And someone else’s if my assumption is right.
“Did you take your pain meds?” He nods sleepily
Depending on which ones he did take, he’s about to be a very loopy and sleepy boy. I get on the bed and take the markers, trying to figure out the best way to do this. “Can I do your chest?”
Jamie nods. “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. I won’t break.”
Still, I carefully straddle his thighs. I’d take whatever real estate I could get. “Will you ever get more tattoos?” I’ve always had the feeling there’s something deeply personal about Jamie’s tattoos that affects him. I don’t know what and don’t want to upset him by asking. If he wants me to know, he’ll tell me. Still, I have a feeling the scars on his body and the tattoos he wears have some sort of link.
“No.” He says simply.
Letting that be, I begin to draw, and with a wicked grin Jamie’s eyes meet mine. I love his eyes—sleepy, filled with warmth when they look at me. He has a freckle under his eyebrow and another one just under his left eye.
“What are you drawing on me, little fox?”
“Can’t spoil the surprise. Eyes up here.” I begin to draw, knowing full well Jamie’s going to fucking kill me. “Why are the ones on this arm little doodles—”
“Doodles?” He laughs. “Maddox would be roll—” He snaps his mouth shut.
“You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay.”
“First, they aren’t doodles. It’s flash art. My friend did them while he was an apprentice. I basically let him practice on me.That’s why they’re kind of random and sticker-like. Whatever he felt like he wanted to try, he did. When he got his first job he did the snake on my arm.”
“And the dragon on your thigh?”
Jamie nods. “He’s done all my tattoos.” I want to ask what happened. Maybe they had a falling out. “It better be something cool.”
“It’s going to be my asshole.” I grin wickedly.
“A work of art for sure.” He laughs softly.
“Is the heating pad helping?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Jamie had come in here to ask for help, and it feels a little like a win. “It’s a dick, isn’t it?” My eyes collide with his. Soft and dreamy. A look I’ve been getting more and more.
It means nothing. I mean nothing.
“What? You wouldn’t want a cute little penis on your chest?”
“I already have one sitting in my lap.”
My jaw drops, and I refuse to give in to the giggle that wants to escape. “Excuse me.” A genuine grin breaks out across his face. His dark eyes are bruised purple underneath. “Wasn’t so little when you were choking on it.”
“I wasn’t choking.”
“Um, you gagged.”
“A courtesy cough.”
Goddammit, I’ve taught him too well. I have no one else to blame. Biting the inside of my cheek hard so I don’t smile, I go back to my drawing. “You’re a dickhead, just so you’re aware.” A sleepy chuckle leaves his lips. “Did you take the strong ones?” I can tell by his demeanor. Jamie nods slowly. “Sleepy?”